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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27216883">Wait</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tonight_At_Noon/pseuds/Tonight_At_Noon'>Tonight_At_Noon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Emo levels of emotional, Emotional, F/M, covid stuff exists, lockdown is in effect, love and comfort and sad Darcy abound</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 19:47:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>990</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27216883</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tonight_At_Noon/pseuds/Tonight_At_Noon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Crime waits for no man. Even during a worldwide pandemic.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Bucky" Barnes/Darcy Lewis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>72</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Wait</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>What is up party people? Long story short, I totally lost any and every ounce of inspiration and motivation for writing. I felt (and still feel - maybe just a bit less) that my writing was stupid, and I felt like a bit of a dummy for doing this. </p><p>I make no promises, but I am going to try to pick up my two stories that are very much just sitting on this site and my laptop gathering dust and screaming "why did you start me?" every time I so much as glance at their outlines. </p><p>Please be kind. I literally just wrote this. Literally. I started and finished it within the last hour. It probably isn't award-winning. It's also probably not terrible. It's most likely in the middle of those two extremes. Feel free to tell me what you think in a comment and I just might grace you with a response. </p><p>Thank you for your patience. For those of you who have been with me since the beginning when I was writing about a barista and an asshole celebrity, thank you for sticking with me and believing that I have the talent and skill I so often convince myself I lack. </p><p>Birdie, this one's for you. From one Bethany to another, thank you. </p><p>Enjoy.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <strong>
    <span class="s1">.</span>
  </strong>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <b>Wait</b>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <strong>
    <span class="s1">.</span>
  </strong>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1"></span><br/><br/>Time waits for no man. </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Darcy heard that line a lot growing up. It was her single father's motto. His single iota of inspiration meant to spur her towards greatness. And it worked. At first, it only worked because he signed her up for every sport, club, and extra curricular in existence. Soccer - check. Chess club - check. Volunteer to clean the classroom after school - check. Through no fault of her own, Darcy was an overachiever in everyone's eyes. Especially her own. But she went along with it all because her dad had been sad ever since her mom left, and he needed her out of his constantly messy hair while he finished up the work day. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Slowly, though, Darcy started enjoying the heavy workload. She put sports aside as soon as she could get away with it, but everything else stayed a part of her routine. Her social life (and subsequently her social skills) took a violent nosedive during high school. Her counselor called it an unhealthy obsession with business. Her counselor called her "addicted". A term Darcy took lightly - work addiction seemed far less dangerous than a heroin addiction. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">By the time college applications were due, she had her teachers shoving forms for Yale and Harvard and NYU her way because with her amount of extra curriculars added to her 4.2 GPA, she was bound to get accepted. But West Virginia was home. So she stayed. For her dad. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Then college happened. And Brian Hagar happened - biggest mistake ever. Her GPA dropped by .4 after that mess. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Then someone put an ad out for an assistant, and then Thor happened.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The world of superheroes opened wide for Darcy and she plunged into its life-threatening arms. Its grip on her dragged her all over the world until one day it dropped her - hard - on her ass. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But that's where he came in. That day all those months ago when everything fell apart for her. Everything had fallen apart for him too, so it was perfect. Two broken pieces trying to mend themselves. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She looks at him now as the sun trips into the lounge through the slats of the blind, his body sporting a jaundice-like hue, his back muscles pulsating. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I have to go. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That is what Bucky has just said to her. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I </span>
  <span class="s2">have </span>
  <span class="s1">to go. He only uses that word - </span>
  <span class="s2">has</span>
  <span class="s1"> - when it's true, which means the government needs him somewhere. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"I'm sorry," he says to the broken sunlight, like this is his fault. "I don't want to leave you alone."</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She doesn't want to be left alone. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"It's okay," she insists, but the sentiment falls flat. Of course it does. Usually, when he gets called away, she has work buddies and real-life buddies to lean on. She has tasks to complete. Constant errands to run. She has clients to meet and court hearings to make. But that all stopped months ago. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She will drown in herself if he goes.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"It's funny," she says, walking to him. She strokes his shoulder blades. Moves her fingertip down his spine. Goosebumps appear on his flesh, and she wants to bite down, eat him alive. Choosing instead to rest her flaming forehead against his cool, metal shoulder, she continues, "I thought for some stupid reason that they wouldn't call you out while all of this is going on. Like all the criminals would be following the guidelines too. Like crime would wait until it was safe to be human again."</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His puff of a laugh blows against her side-swept bangs as he kisses the top of her head. She closes her eyes. His lips are warm against her scalp and she in turn kisses his shoulder, right where the red star used to be. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Time waits for no man," he says into her hair, and it is so separate from the context in which her father would use the adage, but its words strike her in the chest like a lightning bolt. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"I don't know what I'll do on my own," she says, feeling stupid for crying. But the tears are bubbling, spilling over, and she can't stop them. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The thing is, when the world came to a halt at the start of this shitshow, Darcy wasn't worried. She had someone to help her through the lulls in the day. When work slowed, they took up an assortment of random activities. They completed every Monet puzzle over 1,000 pieces they could find on Amazon. They played round after round of Battleship and Connect Four and Operation. She learned 1940s war-themed poker. She taught him how to play Mario Kart. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But without him, and without the outside world, Darcy will implode. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Time waits for no man. As she idles, anticipating his return, the seconds will whiz by, aging her, taunting her. And she will be unable to do anything - </span>
  <span class="s2">anything</span>
  <span class="s1"> - about it.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bucky turns into her and envelopes her, and she clings to him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"It'll be good for you," he says softly, untangling himself from her and looking her in the eye. She stares back, keeping her eyes open even as he collects her tears on his thumb and grips her face and moves his head closer to her own. "You'll learn to be still. You might even learn to like it."</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her eyes widen mockingly. "You really think I - me, the proud workaholic - will learn to like it?"</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"I said </span>
  <span class="s2">might</span>
  <span class="s1">," he corrects, bumping her cheek with his nose. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She closes her eyes only when his lips touch hers. The kiss is not urgent. He jokes that all of her kisses make him feel they will be discovered by a disapproving teacher at any moment. This one is soft, though, and gentle, and full of promises. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He breaks away. Opening her eyes, Darcy is blinded by the jagged sun slicing across his features. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It will be hard, but she can do this. It won't be long after all. </span>
</p>
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